My husband never had a dog growing up, leaving him without fond memories of coming home from school to be greeted by doggie kisses and a wagging tail.

These acts of affection were commonplace for Seamus, my family’s beloved soft-coated Wheaten terrier, whose enduring legacy still brings tears to the eyes of my parents, my brother and me.

But for my husband, it took many months of begging and dog-watching for friends and family to get him on board with adopting a dog. And it took almost a year for us to find just the right dog.

So every time he now tells me how much he loves our dog, Fenway, my heart soars.

He eventually grasped that there are too many dogs in need of a home. But adopting a dog when you have a breed in mind is not for the faint of heart.

There are dedicated Wheaten rescues that save dogs from horrible puppy mills in the Midwest. Yet, the biggest one requires you to have a fenced-in backyard for most dogs, which put our West Bethlehem row home quickly out of the running.

I decided to set up a breed alert with AdoptaPet.com, and I obsessively checked Petfinder several times a day. Any time a Wheaten or terrier mix came up, I contacted the adoption agency or shelter. I soon learned you have to move fast … crazy fast.

Often, I'd call the shelter an hour after the listing went up, and the dog had already been adopted. I submitted countless adoption forms. With rescue groups, they're not obligated to give you a dog just because you're the first to apply. They conduct thorough interviews, asking how long the dog will be alone, how it will get exercise and how you'll handle behavior problems. One rescue even asked me how busy the traffic was on my street. And she cautioned me not to lie. She planned to Google Earth my street.

I joked that it had to be easier to adopt a child. But now that we’ve adopted our pup, I know why they ask. These rescues and foster families really get to know the dog.

My dog is a people person. He thrives on human contact, even if he is just sitting on my feet while I'm on the computer not paying him any mind. He wouldn't do well being left alone for 10-plus hours a day. And they weren't kidding when they said he was a mixed bag with other dogs.

I admit in the weeks before finding Fenway I became a bit obsessive, perhaps at times even impulsive.

We'd had a particularly heartbreaking loss of a puppy, nicknamed J.J. Von Love Muffin on Petfinder. He was such an adorable fur-ball there were almost 100 applications. We got into the running and scored an interview, but he went to a family in Florida.

I got to a point where I was ready to say anything to get someone to give us a dog.

And then a dog named Taylor popped up on Petfinder. He was listed in Texas but was part of a rescue network that brings dogs from Southern kill shelters to Allentown and points further north. He was such a dead ringer for Seamus that I quickly fired off an email inquiring about him.

But I was told he was spoken for already. I took a break from applying for any other rescues since we were about to go on vacation for nine days.

Frankly, I forgot about Taylor, so I was shocked when I got a call from the rescue asking if I was still interested. His adoption had fallen through and he was available again. During the 30-minute interview, I learned the dog was about 4 years old, best they could tell. He was a stray found wandering in Houston with long fur and a nasty eye infection. But someone had clearly trained him at some point. He was housebroken and a cuddle bug.

I spent all of Saturday sitting on the beach waiting to find out if Taylor would be our dog. We decided we would name him Fenway if he took to the name change. And at 5 p.m., his foster mom called to say we had been approved. We were elated.

I found myself sitting in a bed-and-breakfast in Charleston, S.C., making arrangements to pick our new pup up at the Philadelphia Airport on Wednesday -- our wedding anniversary. His foster mom recommended the plane flight versus busing him for three days because it is a much shorter travel time.

I'll never forget when the airline carried out his crate and I opened the door. He was cowering in the back.

To avoid overwhelming him, I sat on the floor and let him come out on his own. He seemed unfazed by his journey and more interested in going to the bathroom than meeting me. A few hours later, he was already cuddling with me on our couch.

He's definitely neurotic. He hates most dogs and would love to chase every squirrel in the neighborhood. Despite our best efforts, he still doesn't walk well on a leash.

But six months later, I'd say we think adopting Fenway was one of the best things we've ever done. I wish everyone got that excited to see me walk through the door.